


The Price of Faith

by imperator_titus



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperator_titus/pseuds/imperator_titus
Summary: While trying to get away from the gang for a little while, the angel on Arthur Morgan's shoulder gets him into another situation; whether it's good or bad, he doesn't know yet.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Enter, Pursued by an Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! This isn't my first fanfic by far, but it is my first RDR fic. After thinking about it for a while and finally finishing the main part of the game, I thought I'd solidify my thoughts into a story. I hope you enjoy!

Arthur Morgan just wanted to enjoy one day out in the beautiful wilderness. He didn't want to think about Blackwater or Jenny or Davey. He didn't want to think about having to go rescue Micah or even that embarrassing night in Valentine with Lenny. For one day, he wanted to be free of the obligation.

Even though he wasn't very good at it, he decided to go fishing over by O’Creagh’s Run and maybe doing some hunting if that didn't pay off. Sure, he wanted to help feed the camp, but he mostly just wanted to be away from everyone to clear his head. The camp could be oppressive. He loved Dutch van der Linde and Hosea Matthews, they were fathers when he needed it most, and he loved everyone else as his brothers and sisters. All except Micah, of course. But as much as he loved them, sometimes the little voice in his head whispered its doubts about where the gang was headed, where Dutch’s hair-brained plans were leading them. He always had faith, basically subsisted on it in those early years, but things were getting… uncertain. Unclear. If Arthur thought about it for too long, he started to see cracks. He saw Hosea getting complacent and blind, willfully or not, and Dutch getting careless and… 

No, he didn't want to think about what he saw in Dutch, that was why he came out here to the mountains where he tried hunting that huge grizzly with Hosea. There were too many voices in his head when there used to just be two: Dutch and Hosea guiding him through life. Maybe that happened with age; the voices of your parents multiply and try to steer you in their direction.

Arthur just didn’t know which direction was right anymore.

He was stringing together the few fat salmon he'd managed to hook when a commotion echoed off the mountain and through the trees. One of those voices said it wasn't his business, but another voice, the voice that rang true, said to find out what it was about. There was a minute or two of internal debate. What if it was more than he could handle? He didn’t owe some stranger his life.

But maybe he was the only person who could help.

Dropping the fish back into the lake to stay cold, Arthur leapt onto Maple’s back and encouraged her in the presumed direction of the mess. He tried the path that led northeast along the mountains, trusty revolver in hand.

What he found was someone on the side of the road, pathetically dragging themselves further into the woods. Fearing the worst was about to happen for the poor victim, Arthur holstered his gun and gingerly got down from his saddle.

“Cocksucking bastards want some more?!” the woman shouted, turning surprisingly fast towards the approaching man. Expecting a gun in her hand, the outlaw raised his own in surrender, but was only met with a knife. The wild fire in her eyes died down at the sight of someone she didn’t recognize.

“I might be a bastard, but I promise I’m on my best behavior right now, ma’am,” Arthur reassured her. The hand holding the knife dropped and he took some cautious steps forward.

The poor woman had easily fooled him for a man from behind, especially with the short-cropped hair. Dressed in nice wool slacks, a once-clean linen shirt, and a silk vest under a wool jacket that matched the slacks, it was little surprise that some ruffians chose her as a target. Her clothes were dirty and torn in some places; her shirt sleeve was stained with a smear of blood from where she’d swiped at a cut on her cheek. Arthur would’ve felt sorry for her if she wasn’t obviously one of those people that inspired great spite in his heart. She clearly had money, enough money to spend it on nice clothes, but didn’t have enough sense to not go alone through such a place with only a knife for protection.

Despite her horrible situation, she didn’t seem so much disheartened and afraid as more tired and inconvenienced.

“I would be eternally grateful if you could use some of that good behavior to fetch me a handful of sturdy sticks? I broke my fibula in the fall,” the woman asked through a voice strained with pain.

“Yer what?”

“The little bone in the lower leg,” she answered simply, not the haughty tone he was expecting from someone of her station talking to someone like him. It was then he noticed that she was clearly favoring her left leg on her journey up the side of the road.

“I’ll take you to a doctor, ma’am,” Arthur insisted, moving towards her with a hand outstretched to help her up.

“I  _ am _ a doctor,” the woman told him with a hoarse chuckle. “If you could do me the kindness of getting me some nice sturdy sticks, I’ll get this useless limb right as rain.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor, I’ll get right on it.” As he looked around for suitable sticks, he heard her talking out to him.

“I was going towards Annesburg, my eyes on a train back home, when one of these bastards jumps on my wagon. I tried hitting him with my rifle, but this other bastard rides up and yanks me out of the damn seat. Of course, just my luck, I drop and break the rifle and can’t even have the dignity of shooting at them as they ride away with all my things.” Returning with the sticks, he found the doctor pulling things out of her satchel in search of a roll of linen strips. “I hope they don’t hurt those horses. Maybell and Bluebell were my best companions yet on this long journey.”

“What kind of journey is that?” Arthur asked politely as he laid the bundle next to her. He watched as she shaved the bark off of one with her knife. Her concern for the horses, and her supposed attempt to fight back against her attackers, made him a little more sympathetic.

“I travel around, rendering aid to those who are less fortunate and too far from civilization to get some proper medicine,” she said before biting down on the cleaned piece of wood. The outlaw watched with no small amount of surprise as she felt around in her right calf and made one forceful movement. A pained grunt escaped through her clenched teeth and an errant tear rolled down her blood-stained cheek. Removing the stick from her mouth, she went to work creating a makeshift splint. Arthur helped, unbidden, by holding the sticks in place around her leg while she secured them with the linen strips. Her heavy breathing filled his ears.

“I can take you to Annesburg,” he offered as she tied the last strip. “You can get a train home.”

“That’s alright, kind stranger,” she pleaded softly, obviously in no small amount of pain. “They got all my money, I won’t be able to make the whole trip like that. No, I guess I’ll have to figure something else out.”

One of his old voices said  _ leave her, she ain’t yer problem. _ A slightly younger voice said  _ pay for her ticket home _ . The youngest and boldest of the three said  _ take her back to camp _ .

“I gotta camp not too far away. With other people,” Arthur told her, surprising even himself. “There’s other women, my friend even has a kid with us… I could convince ‘em t’ let you stay til your leg is better, at least.”

“That’s too much, I don’t want to impose on your kindness,” she said with genuine concern. The doctor tried to stand, but Arthur could see how much pain it caused her. He put a bracing hand under her arm and tried to keep her balanced on the good leg.

“The way I see it, you been spreadin’ kindness all over fer people who have none, maybe people like me. Least I can do is give you a place to rest.” He didn’t realize how deep of a blue her eyes were until they looked at him so openly, searching his face for the truth. Standing, he had a chance to see that she was strongly built for a woman. Maybe her appearance was meant as a defence, to not seem so lost and helpless. She mostly just seemed… tired. Tired like him.

“You’re a really good man, sir,” she told him, almost sadly.

“Nah, I ain’t been a good person.” Carefully he led her back to Maple where she was waiting patiently beside the road, tearing up some scrub idly.

“Maybe you’re changing. For the better. No one has to stay the way they were.”

“Were  _ you _ always a selfless wanderin’ doctor?”

“No, I used to be a pirate.” Arthur made a sound between a laugh and a scoff. He could see that, despite her pain, one corner of her mouth was pulled up in an amused smile. “Go ahead, don’t believe me.”

Joking with this stranger made him feel…  _ good _ . It was probably the most at ease he’d been since before all that business in Blackwater. To ruin the moment, his anxiety about the whole thing returned.

“This might change yer mind, but…” The outlaw left her leaning against Maple’s side as he untied the black bandana around his neck. She lovingly caressed the animal’s silky body. “I think it’d be best if you didn’t see where we’re goin’.”

“A secret hideout?” she asked with humor. “Exciting.”

“I think my people would be more… welcomin’, if they thought there was little chance you could tell people where we are.”

“I’m not arguing, I understand.” The doctor submitted to his clumsy attempt to blindfold her. When he was done, she swiveled her head around. “I can still see a bit, down my cheeks. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, is probably alright,” Arthur drawled sheepishly. As he helped her up onto the back of his horse, he tried to be careful about her bound leg.

“If anyone acts funny, I’ll just say I’m blind, I suppose. The broken leg will probably help things,” she wondered aloud, a small smile on her lips. Arthur climbed into the saddle and nearly set the horse off running as his passenger placed a securing hand on his waist. Feeling him tense, it tried to find a more agreeable spot to rest. “Did you have any luck this morning?”

“What?” he asked in confusion as he set off in the direction of Horseshoe Overlook.

“Fishing. Your hands— and your shirt, I imagine— smell like fish slime.”

“Shit!” Arthur cursed on his breath. He headed for where he’d been fishing all morning, but a part of him knew that they were long gone.

“I’m sorry,” his new companion said sincerely from atop Maple’s back. “If it was earlier in the day, I’d offer to catch you some more to make up for the trouble I’ve caused.”

“Nah, that’s alright,” he drawled sadly, kicking some stones into the lake before turning back to his horse. “I’ll just go out again in the mornin’.”

“I can go with you,” she offered hopefully, then laughed. “I could probably do a little fishing with this busted leg. I’m sure some of my patients have in the past, despite my orders.”

“Ya know, I don’t even know yer name,” the outlaw pointed out.

“I don’t know yours either, cowboy.”

“It’s, ah…” He thought about it for way too long. Normally he liked to give fake names to strangers, but this one had the complication of hanging around camp for a bit. “Arthur Morgan.”

“I can’t tell if you’re lying or not, Mister Morgan,” the doctor said with a reassuring amount of humor. “But either way, it’s nice to meet you. Doctor Guinevere Schofield.”

If she’d been riding beside him, he would’ve shot her a disbelieving look. “That  _ can’t _ be your real name.”

“Why not?”

“It’s… ridiculous!”

“Is Arthur Morgan  _ your _ real name, Mister Outlaw?”

“For once, it really is.”

“Maybe I have more to lose, Mister Morgan.”

“What, you an outlaw too? Fail to heal a king?” The doctor laughed loudly behind him.

“Not quite,” she answered more softly. “I promise to tell you my name someday. From the comfort of a letter.”

“You don’t owe me yer real name,” Arthur insisted, steering his horse along a twist in the path. “You got yer reasons, Doctor Schofield.”

“I appreciate your honesty. I will repay it in some other way.”

“Where are you  _ from _ , anyhow? You don’t look like you belong around these parts.”

“Up north. Massachusetts, if you want to be more specific.” Maple shuddered as Arthur turned her aside to give an oncoming cart the right-of-way. Guinevere, if that was her real name or not, gripped his arm for stability. “And where are  _ you _ from, Mister Morgan? You sound a bit like a northerner yourself.”

“For a while, when I was a boy. But I’ve been around a lot of places. Was out west for a while.”

“Out west is nice. Less people. Beautiful scenery. Wild.” She chuckled. “I used to think it was much wilder than here in the east, but maybe I was wrong.”

“There’s ugly types everywhere, unfortunately.”

“Yes, there’s one right next to me.” Arthur laughed and shook his head as Maple’s hooves rang hollow on the railroad crossing. “Are your friends as nice as you, Mister Morgan?”

“Well, some of them is,” he answered as he slowed his horse. “Some are nicer. Some are a bit mean. But I trust most of them. The one I don’t trust, well, he’s in jail right now so you won’t need to worry about him for a bit.”

“You should probably give them all fake names,” the doctor said in good humor.

“Yer probably right, but I don’t know if we could keep that up.”

“Then what kind of bandits are you?” As he pulled up to Lenny Summers, the current guard on duty, Arthur chuckled loudly.

“Not very good ones, I guess.” Stepping down from his horse, he patted Maple’s neck before handing the reins over to the young man. “Lenny, can you keep an eye on Doctor Schofield here while I go talk to the Big Man?”

“Sure, uh…” Not privy to what the outlaw had already told this woman, Lenny paused.

“If they say no, Arthur, say you’ll throw me in the river and let me float downstream,” she called after her savior. Despite the fact that she couldn’t see it, he tipped his hat to her in response.

Many of the gang members present gathered near the hitching posts to see what this was all about. Miss Susan Grimshaw was about to yell at her girls for being lazy, but stopped herself at the sight of an unaccounted-for figure sitting on Mister Morgan’s horse.

“I need to speak to Dutch and Hosea,” he said quietly as he approached, but the two gentlemen in question weren’t far behind the gathered crowd.

“Come here, Arthur,” the younger of the gang bosses commanded, pointing his cigar towards his tent. Arthur looked like he’d already been reprimanded, but he was determined to be firm. “What in Creation is going on?”

“She got robbed by some folk, I helped her,” he explained matter-of-factly.

“Then you take her to a  _ town _ , let the  _ law _ deal with it, maybe extract a little  _ cash _ as gratitude,” Dutch schooled him, clearly annoyed. “Not  _ bring her with you! _ ”

“What happened to helpin’ folk, Dutch?”

“Are you unaware of the  _ situation _ we are in, Arthur? We do not need more to worry about right now!”

“You saved Mrs. Adler when we were in an even  _ worse _ situation. Charles, Javier, and I, we risked our  _ necks _ to get Sean out of Blackwater! And Micah? He’s nothing but a damn thorn in our sides and you want me t’ go bust him out of a backwater jail!”

“He has a point, Dutch,” Hosea butted in after spending the conversation so far sagely nodding.

“Sean and Micah were already our boys, and Mrs. Adler was left without a husband or a home in the middle of a snowstorm thanks to Colm’s boys. This woman is just another mouth to feed.”

“You saved me once, when I had nothin’ to offer you but the skin off my back,” Arthur said savagely. “You saved Tilly and John and Lenny.”

“I don’t  _ care _ , Arthur, put her on a  _ train _ or a  _ coach _ or something, just get her out of here!” Dutch roared, trying to be the final word. He even turned away as if he was done with the conversation.

“She ain’t got no money, a wool jacket ain’t gonna get her back to Massachusetts.”

“What, you learn where a woman’s from on some nice little horse ride through the country and you’re attached at the hip all of a sudden?” Dutch asked in disbelief. “Give her some of your money, Arthur, or  _ hell _ , if it’ll get you to shut up, I’ll give you the money out of my own damn pockets.”

“She broke her leg. She’s a doctor,” Arthur told them at last, even though it should’ve been the second thing out of his mouth. Maybe he’d been raring for an argument where he could say all the things he’d been feeling. “She can help while she’s here.”

“A doctor might come in handy, Dutch,” Hosea said, throwing his hat into the ring. Arthur had been confident that Hosea would at least be in favor of offering safe harbor for a little while.

“And not be able to show my face in camp? I am a  _ wanted _ man, gentlemen!”

“Most of us are, Dutch. If she hasn’t recognized Arthur, she probably isn’t going to recognize you.”

“Fine! You want her here that badly? You pair of ninnies?” The fuming man ran his free hand through his hair. “Fine, Mister Morgan, but  _ you _ will carry the weight of the both of you.” As Arthur stepped away, Dutch added, “and go get Micah already!”

“I’ll do it in the mornin’,” Arthur answered in a sulky tone. He wouldn’t mind having to do more work, but he wasn’t expecting it to be so hard.

The nearby group of eavesdroppers dispersed quickly, trying and failing to look like they had been busy with some chore or other.

“Arthur!” Hosea called, jogging to catch up. “Don’t take it so harshly. Dutch is under a lot of stress.”

“I know, I just—” Arthur sighed heavily. “I don’t know how to explain it, Hosea, I really don’t. I just wanted him to say  _ yes _ and  _ mean  _ it.”

“I understand, my boy. Dutch can be difficult, especially since Blackwater.”

“Look, I— She agreed to be blindfolded on our way in, so she wouldn’t know how we got here. I really don’t think she’s goin’ to mean us any harm, now or in the future.” Talking to Hosea soothed his hurt feelings. He made Arthur feel understood and like he actually listened.

“My, Arthur, that was a rather good idea. And it’s a good sign that she agreed to it so readily.” They started walking towards Lenny’s post and the awaiting doctor. “Why do you want her to be in camp so badly? Really?”

“I don’t really know, Hosea. I was ready to just take her to Valentine or Annesburg and let her figure out, it’s not like she asked to come home with me.” Arthur shook his head, because he really couldn’t understand why he did the things he did. “She wanders the country, helpin’ folk what can’t afford it. She offered to catch the fish I lost! But I guess it was really because… She was sittin’ on the side of that road, tryin’ t’ help herself, almost all of her worldly possessions gone, and all she seemed worried about was that those bastards didn’t hurt her horses.”

Hosea’s eyes were soft and his touch on Arthur’s shoulder was as gentle as his smile. Briefly, he felt like a fool. The girls were probably going to say he fell in love or something stupid.

“I always knew you had a good heart, Arthur. Bessie always— Well, she’d sometimes wish we had a boy like you.” Arthur’s throat hurt. Hosea’s late wife had been like the mother he was never allowed to have when he was small. The older man saved him from finding an appropriate response. “Let’s welcome our guest, shall we? What’s her name?”

“Doctor Guinevere Schofield.” Hosea made a sound that Arthur knew to be excitement. “I’m certain it’s fake, but I ain’t gonna press the issue. I told her my real name, like an idiot. And Lenny’s too, I guess.”

“Oh, that’s alright, I have a good feeling about her already.” Hosea laughed as they approached Maple.

“Have I been granted refuge or should I have started walking about an hour ago?” the blindfolded doctor asked, a laugh pulling at her lips. “Poor Mister Summers here has found me to be a dull conversationalist.”

“That ain’t true, Doctor,” the young man said sheepishly, trying to pretend like he was keeping a lookout.

It was actually Hosea who walked beside the horse as Arthur led it into camp. To Arthur, he appeared very excited to have a new person to talk to.

“You don’t exactly strike me as the boring sort, Doctor Schofield.”

“Oh! A new disembodied voice!” Hosea chuckled at her joke. “Tell me, what are the chances I’ll have a sack thrown over my head and be thrown into the river in the middle of the night?”

“Maybe one in ten, if you look at Miss Grimshaw wrong or complain about Mister Pearson’s cooking,” the old con artist told her, patting her good leg. “Tell me, what were you doing out on that mountain? There was a monstrous bear near there only a few days ago.”

“I was in New Austin about a week ago, I was coming through on my way home. I was helping folk along the way, if they needed it. Guess I inadvertently helped some rascals get some troublesome money.”

“Too bad it wasn’t  _ this _ group of rascals.” Miss Grimshaw was about to complain about them bringing a horse so far into the camp, but Arthur gestured for her to observe the doctor’s bound leg.

“What’s this about a monster bear?” Arthur felt a twinge of anger rise in his stomach as Hosea helped Doctor Schofield off the horse, but he didn’t know where it came from. Inserting himself into their space, he removed his bandana from her eyes and replaced it around his neck.

“I’ll tell you if you are nice and cooperative. It’s a good story, featuring your handsome knight in shining armor.” Hosea didn’t have much longer to be charming as Miss Grimshaw came back with a spare blanket and a change of clothes she managed to find tucked somewhere, probably forcibly volunteered from one of the girls.

“We don’t have a spare cot or bed roll, Miss—  _ Doctor _ Schofield, except Mister Bell’s, but I expect he’ll be wanting it when he comes back from his travels,” Miss Grimshaw informed the gathered group, clutching onto the bundle with nervous hands. “But I guess it will do until we can find a suitable alternative.”

“Nonsense,” Arthur insisted before Hosea could butt in with some plan of his own. Seeing as the other man had the doctor secured, he took the bundle from Grimshaw to save her the indignity of standing there looking like she didn’t know what was happening. “She can sleep on my cot. I’ll just throw my bedroll down on the ground like everybody else.”

“Oh, really, I’m fine with the ground—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Arthur interrupted dismissively as he laid the clothes down on his table, moving his meager possessions aside. “You got a broken leg, you ain’t layin’ on the hard ground all damn day.”

Between Arthur and Hosea, they managed to get her sitting on the cot without incident. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see all the people staring. It made the outlaw more than a little mad.

“Go on now!” he roared, shooing them away with flailing arms. “Don’t y’all have somethin’ needs doin’?”

“Oh, darlin’,” Miss Grimshaw cooed as she took in the new woman’s appearance. “I’ll get one of the girls on mending these holes right away. No use throwing away such nice clothes.”

“I can take care of the holes, Miss Grimshaw, I just might need some help with the washing aspect, if you don’t mind too much,” Doctor Schofield fussed politely, beating some dirt off her trousers.

“Well maybe you’ll be twice as useful as my girls,” the older woman joked with a smile. She turned to address Arthur and Hosea, who were standing just to the side in the hopes of getting to extract more information. “Gentlemen, why don’t you make us some privacy so I can help the poor dear out of her clothes. I’ll go fetch some soap and water while you muck around.”

“Yes, Miss Grimshaw,” they said in unison, a pair of properly respectful men in the face of the strong camp matriarch.

As Doctor Schofield carefully removed her boots and what clothes that didn’t compromise her dignity, Arthur and Hosea hung tent canvas around the wagon to act as a temporary room.

“This really feels unnecessary,” the doctor said with a chuckle as they were starting the second wall. “I might be from the ‘civilized’ part of the country, but I’ve never been shy about a little nudity in the glory of nature.”

Hosea laughed and Arthur pinkened, pointedly looking away from their guest even though she was still in her shirt and trousers. “It’s generally best to do what Miss Grimshaw says.”

“Yes, I think she even outranks our fearless leader,” Hosea added with his characteristic charm.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Miss Grimshaw called out as they finished their task. With a bucket of water at her side, she waited at the crack in the canvas walls. “How are we doing, Doctor Schofield?”

“Claustrophobic,” she joked, “and I’m not quite sure how much longer I can stand to put on a brave face regarding the pain I’m in.”

“Mister Morgan, why don’t you see if you can find something to fix that? And Mister Matthews, why don’t you find something better to do.”

“I’ll accompany young Arthur, in case he’s waylaid by bandits.” Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head as he walked away. Only when they were on their horses and on their way to Valentine did Hosea speak again. “She’s charming, Arthur.”

“If you say so,” was the grumbled reply.

“If I was only 20 years younger…”

“Why you tryin’ t’get a rise outta me, Hosea?”

“I’m not trying to do anything, I’m just talking aloud,” Hosea clearly lied. “I have a nose for interesting people, Arthur, and that woman is  _ very _ interesting.”

“Just a woman what needs help, ‘s all,” Arthur explained, wishing the older man would leave it be. “A month or so off that leg and she can limp her way to the train station.”

“She’s a doctor, nice clothes… Could probably get some serious money off of her if you set your charms on her. Bat your pretty blue eyes.”

“Maybe I’ll threaten to break her leg again if she don’t pay up.”

“Now, even  _ I _ don’t believe you’d do something like  _ that _ , Arthur.” Hosea readjusted his gloves. “You wouldn’t bring her all the way back just to threaten that poor woman for money.”

“How ‘bout you  _ drop _ it, Hosea, a’fore I get real angry wit _ chu? _ ” Arthur seethed, flashing his riding companion a sharp glance.

“Dutch would say you’re changing, but I’d say your true character is shining through.” When Arthur didn’t bite, he kept talking. “Dutch wanted your brute force, kept you with him for your guns, wouldn’t listen to me when I wanted to take you grifting. He didn’t believe you had the knack for it, but  _ I _ did. You have a good read for people, Arthur, and you’re much more charming than you think. Sure, not as charming as  _ me _ , but you have that…  _ something _ . Like you’re the most honest outlaw there is. An aura that makes people  _ trust _ you.”

“Where’s this  _ goin’? _ ”

“Dutch sees a threat, an unknown,” Hosea started to explain in his lofty way, “but I see a great opportunity. We know the  _ who _ , and likely the  _ why _ , but not the  _ what _ .”

“You and yer fuckin’  _ cons _ ,” Arthur grumbled. “Now yer gonna tell me what character I need t’play in this elaborate theatrical production yer cookin’ in that bear-eaten brain of yers.”

“That’s the beauty of it, my dear boy! You won’t  _ have _ to act as anyone other than yourself. That rough and gruff exterior has already won her over!” Hosea was practically beaming as the Valentine train station came into view. “Besides, it might not necessarily be a  _ con _ . I’m honestly excited at the prospect of not knowing where this will go.”

“I’m excited at the prospect of you shuttin’ yer mouth.”

“You know, the harder you fight about it, the more people are going to think the things you don’t want them thinking. Especially when you’re clearly having some sudden change of heart the more we talk about her.”

“Why’d you even come?” Arthur asked as he hitched his horse in front of the doctor’s. “Just to torment me? Because even Dutch doesn’t wanna listen to yer prattlin’?”

“I’m getting a feel for the situation. A broken leg is a long time.” Before Arthur could enter the doctor’s office, Hosea called out, “I’ll meet you in front of the grocer’s!”

“How can I help you, sir?” the man behind the counter asked as the disgruntled cowboy came inside. 

“Yes, my friend, she, uh, broke her leg and she needs something for the pain,” Arthur stammered out eventually, scratching his beard and looking at the floor like he was suddenly quite embarrassed.

“Well, you should bring her to me so I can take a look at that leg.”

“No, no, she’s a, uh, doctor herself.”

“Some practical prairie knowledge isn’t exactly a replacement for a proper education, if you don’t mind me being so blunt.”

“She didn’t exactly show me her fancy doctorin’ license but I’m pretty confident she knew what she was doin’ when she snapped her fib-whatsit back into place.”

“I guess I can’t exactly force her to come in,” the doctor posited nervously as he pulled the correct bottle off the shelf. “Normally I require to see a patient before I let this stuff go, it’s rather powerful, but I can make an exception.”

“She and I are mighty appreciative, I assure you.” The black-hat outlaw in Arthur’s brain told him he was a fool for paying out of his own pocket, but it only showed itself in the slight hesitation of his hand counting out the right number of coins.

He met Hosea just as the older man was coming out, a paper-wrapped package in his hands. “Ready to go, Arthur?”

“What’s that?” the cowboy asked, gesturing to the package with a hand pinching a cigarette he intended to light.

“Chocolates, candies,” Hosea answered, amused. Arthur lit a match on a passing porch strut. “I wasn’t quite sure what the doctor would like more.”

“What, you courtin’ a woman almost half your age?” Arthur said around the cigarette perched between his lips.

“We want her to feel amicable,” Hosea explained as if it was something Arthur should already know. “Of course, I think it would be better coming from  _ you _ , not some old fool like me.”

“Ya know what, Hosea?” He didn’t leave any room for an answer as he shoved the bottle of medicine into his friend’s chest. “Why don’t  _ you _ go be the delivery boy? I’m gonna see if I can bag a deer or somethin’ before it’s too late. I lost four damn salmon because of that new weight around my neck.”

“Come on, Arthur, I didn’t mean anything by it!” Hosea called out, desperate for Arthur to not run off so hot.

“Of course you didn’t, ya old bastard,” Arthur said as he mounted Maple. With venom he added, “I ain’t the hero in one of yer damn plays, Hosea, so stop treatin’ me like one.”

Hosea wanted to call out his apology, but Arthur wouldn’t have heard or accepted it. His frustration with the old actor— with Dutch and everyone’s prying eyes— was making him question the decision he’d made on that mountain.

Hosea returned to camp after a ride filled with silent contemplation. He worried about Arthur, his anger and internal strife, and about what the day’s starring event would mean for the gang. Mostly he was tired; he was tired of running and hearing Dutch say “one more big score.” It seemed like lately that every time Dutch had some great idea it went sour. Once upon a time, he loved this kind of life, the romance and indeterminate nature of it all, but he couldn’t deny that he was getting old and that he wasn’t exactly looking forward to having the last of his days spent in a cell or worrying about the next bullet.

When he hitched Silver Dollar under the shade of the trees, Arthur’s wagon was already back to its normal state, minus the fact that someone who was definitely  _ not _ the surly gunslinger was lying on his cot.

“Good to see that Miss Grimshaw has gotten you cleaned up after your ordeal,” he said as he approached the cot. Hoping for a smile or a clever quip, he found her trying to hide the fact that she’d been crying. With a voice perfused with sympathy, he added, “Oh, Doctor, it seems I’ve come back none too soon.”

Doctor Schofield wiped her cheeks on a sleeve as she sat up. Graciously, but silently, she accepted the bottle of medicine whose label she carefully read. Voice wobbly, she asked, “Could you find me a spoon, please, Mister Matthews?”

“Call me Hosea,” he insisted with a smile, deliberately laying down the other package he'd brought for her before quickly pacing off towards the chuck wagon. He was intercepted by a looming figure. “Hello, Dutch.”

“What are you doing, Hosea?” the Van der Linde leader said deliberately as Hosea searched for a suitably clean spoon.

“Helping a damsel in distress.”

“This isn’t  _ funny _ . She’s a  _ risk _ , a  _ liability _ .”

“Well  _ I _ think she’s an  _ opportunity _ .”

“What does a penniless, crippled doctor have to offer  _ us _ ?” Dutch asked, keeping Hosea from going back to Arthur’s wagon.

“I don’t know yet, Dutch, but I have a good feeling about it,” Hosea answered quite firmly with a side of disappointment. “She had to come from  _ somewhere _ .”

“Well I have a  _ bad _ feeling about it.”

“I think you’d change your mind if you talked to her. I’ve talked to Arthur and—”

“ _ Arthur _ doesn’t make the decisions around here, Hosea,  _ I _ do,” Dutch reminded him forcefully.

“Who do you want to lead these people when you’re gone? Or if you were incapacitated? Seems to me  _ Arthur _ is the best choice: shouldn’t he start making some decisions?”

“Arthur’s a  _ boy _ —”

“He’s 36—”

“And so long as  _ I _ am alive,  _ I _ am in charge. It is the  _ Van der Linde _ Gang, after all.”

“I’m just worried that you’re losing sight of reality a little bit, Dutch,” Hosea admitted with a heavy heart. He never thought he’d have to say it aloud.

“And what’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” Dutch asked, hands on his hips, a scowl on his face.

“Your plans, they’ve been causing us more problems than they’re worth. That riverboat, the bonds we picked up—”

“I am getting us on the path to a new life. Have some goddam faith, Hosea.”

“You know, I’ve seen it plenty of times and I suppose it’s happening to me. People get old and they start believing in something else. Usually it’s God and the afterlife but for me, I guess it’s that you’re hard to hold faith in, Dutch. Not anymore, at least.”

“But you put your faith in  _ Arthur _ and some  _ outsider? _ ”

“I don’t know what it is yet, it’s just not  _ you _ . I’m sorry, I really am, friend.”

“Well, then I guess I  _ have _ to meet this  _ Jezebel _ .”

“That’s incredibly rude,” Hosea scowled, casting his eyes around to see who might have overheard them. “She’s been nothing but polite.”

“She is seducing my two most trusted people away from me.”

“She’s doing no such thing, you’re paranoid. Now get out of my way!” Hosea nearly pushed Dutch away from him on his way back to Arthur’s cot.

“Thank you, Mister—  _ Hosea _ ,” Doctor Schofield corrected herself. She took the spoon and should have measured out her medicine, but the stifling presence of Dutch Van der Linde gave her pause. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet.”

“Hoagy MacIntosh,” Dutch said with an amount of charm that Hosea knew to be too much but a stranger might have mistaken for nervousness. The doctor chuckled under her breath as she messed with the bottle’s seal. “And what’s so funny, Doctor Schofield?”

“I thought aliases were supposed to be, I don’t know, unremarkable? Now I’m going to be thinking about having a sandwich at the Pinafore with an apple.” With one fluid movement, she guided the spoon into her mouth, quickly removed all of its contents, and swallowed, shaking off the vile taste with a grimace.

“Aren’t you worldly.”

“Most vagabonds are.”

“And how does one such as yourself become a vagabond?” Dutch asked suspiciously.

“My first choice was going to the moon, but apparently we’re just not there yet. I tried being a pirate, but it didn’t quite work out.” Hosea chuckled, but Dutch wasn’t as amused. “I’m sorry gentlemen, but knowing this tonic, I’m about to be in a sleep so deep that God couldn’t even wake me.”

“Well, we’ll leave you to it, Doctor,” Hosea told her sweetly, guiding his longtime companion away. “You sure know how to be welcoming, Dutch.”

“I sure hope you and that  _ boy _ know what you're getting us into.”


	2. Medicine for Beginners

When Guinevere Schofield woke up from her laudanum-induced nap, the moon hung in the sky. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she complained to herself about the bitter tincture.

Carefully sitting up, she reached for her satchel and rummaged around for her journal. As she contemplated the words to be committed to paper, the package on Arthur’s table caught her eye. She vaguely remembered Hosea Matthews insisting that she open it when she was feeling up to it. The doctor set aside her journal and hooked a finger around the package’s twine binding to pull it closer. While opening a packet of mint candies, a disembodied voice groaned on its way through the darkness surrounding the wagon.

“Could the poor soul who made that noise come here?” Guinevere called out before putting a candy in her mouth. Humming her satisfaction, she set them aside as a figure came into the light of her wagon’s lamp.

“That was me, ma’am,” the poor soul answered nervously.

“How long have you sounded like that, Mister…?”

“Kieran, ma’am. Well, people around here keep calling me ‘O’Driscoll’ but I ain’t an O’Driscoll no more, but I guess I ain't really one of these guys neither cause some of them don't like me too much right now. My real name’s Kieran Duffy.” Kieran realized he'd been rambling and hung his head in shame. It was the longest he'd talked to someone without being threatened or hit. “To answer your question, ma’am, it's been a few days, I reckon.”

“And what hurts, exactly?”

“Everything, really, if I can be honest.”

“Well, then, let me take a look at you.” When Kieran hesitated, she waved him over to the cot. “Come on, now, I don't bite. Not unless you're my Cousin Daniel who just bet me a dollar I can't make him scream.”

Kieran chuckled under his breath as he came closer. “You're a doctor?”

“So they tell me. Horrible decision on their part, really.” She poked at his ribs, receiving a pained noise for her trouble. Examining his face, Guinevere asked, “How’d you get so beat up? Robbery gone wrong?”

“No— well, yes, in a way. I used to be an O’Driscoll and we was— Well, long story short, there's a whole lot less left of them and I didn't have much choice about coming along with these guys.”

“Why would this lot beat the tar out of you, Mister Duffy?” she asked suspiciously as she let his face be.

“They _hate_ Colm O’Driscoll. To be fair, he's a son of a bitch. So far I’d rather be here than back with them.”

“Even after the torture.” Kieran’s response was sheepish and silent. “Why did they let you free?”

“I saved Arthur’s life. I guess he took pity on me.” The doctor offered him one of her mint candies.

“What do you do? You don't really seem like the rough-and-tough type,” Guinevere pondered curiously as he graciously took a candy.

“They mostly trust me with the horses, which isn't much, but I really like horses,” he answered with a smile.

“Me too. I'm gonna miss Maybell and Bluebell. If I ever see those black-coated poxy bastards, they better hope I still have this broken leg.”

“Did they have green scarves?” Kieran asked, worry creasing his brow. When she nodded, he said, “Those were O’Driscolls.”

“Either way, I assume I'll have a better chance meeting the Queen of England than getting my cart and horses back,” the doctor said sarcastically as she ate another candy. 

They sat together for a few minutes, talking mostly about horses. Kieran really appreciated someone treating him like just a regular person, even if they weren’t going to be around long.

“Why does someone who talks so proper and look so nice just… muck around in the wilderness?” he asked after a good laugh about their favorite horses.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” she said quite seriously, but the shocked look on his face caused her to erupt in laughter. “Some of us don’t have much of a choice when it comes to where life sends us, but I had more choice than others.”

“I dunno, I don’t think people have as much choice as they think, even if they’re rich.”

“Well if that ain’t the biggest load a’ horseshit I ever heard.” From the darkness emerged an outlaw with a certain hat, the sight of which made Guinevere smile. He jerked his head to the side as he said, “Leave the lady alone, O’Driscoll.”

“He isn’t bothering me. I actually kind of like him,” she insisted, placing a hand on Kieran’s shoulder. The young man shied away. “Besides, if it wasn’t for him, I might still be crawling my way to Annesburg.”

“I gotta finish checkin’ on the horses anyway before they go to sleep.” In his nervous fashion, he said goodnight to the two before walking off.

“No need to be so rude, Mister Morgan,” Guinevere chided, taking the bowl of stew from his outstretched hand. Under his arm was a bedroll and in his other hand was another bowl of stew.

“He’s a leech,” Arthur responded gruffly as he placed the bedroll down on his table.

“He’s just lost, like the rest of us.” She patted the spot on the cot that Kieran had just vacated. “Join me, why don’t you?”

“Nah, I should sit with my own kind,” he argued weakly, turning in the direction of one of their campfires.

“And leave me all by my lonesome?” The doctor beamed at him as Arthur decided to sit down like she asked. “Tell me about your day. Well, the bit after you rescued me.”

“Aw, it ain’t worth talkin’ about.” Trying to save himself from the embarrassment of recounting the day’s events, he stuffed his mouth with stew in an impolite fashion.

“I take it your hunting worked out,” she commented before taking a bite for herself.

“It did.” Sensing that a conversation about what he’d gotten up to for the hours she’d been asleep wasn’t going to come easily, Guinevere decided to change the subject.

“Mister Matthews seems to have taken a shine to me.”

“He was the most crooked conman you could ever run into, so I wouldn’t put much stock in that,” Arthur responded rather openly. “He’s using you to agitate me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” After finishing a bite of stew, she added, “On the other hand, your… _Hoagy MacIntosh_ doesn’t like me very much.”

“He’s got a lot on his mind,” the outlaw said quickly. “A lot’s happened.”

“I can imagine.”

“And he… doesn’t like… yer _type_.”

Doctor Schofield glanced over to the gang leader’s tent. Music spilled out from a phonograph and shadows danced on the canvas. “And what type is that?”

“Rich folk. He has… _ideas_ , and rich folk don’t really play into them. Thinks they’re ruining the world.”

“You don’t know that I’m rich,” she argued with a sly smile.

“Yer a doctor, got nice clothes, talk proper…” She chuckled. Arthur turned to her with a squint. “What’s so funny?”

“I _was_ rich, I suppose. But I am currently _not_ rich.” Setting aside the empty stew bowl she’d been too polite and smart to complain about, she continued, “My brother got all of my family’s money, and his sons got _his_ money. They wasted it all, as young men are wont to do.”

“Yer parents are dead?” Arthur asked with more hesitance than he liked.

“Yes, but I was never a proper orphan like I imagine most of you were. I was finishing my schooling when my mother died, Father died sometime after.” She said it as if that didn’t affect her much. He assumed that rich people didn’t get along with their families that well and their passing would be more a cause for celebration than sadness.

“Is that why yer a travelin’ doctor? Cause of yer family?”

“In a way.” It took Guinevere a moment to find the proper words. “Maybe it was always there, but if I had to pick a moment when I really _decided_ on my future… Well, I needed someone’s help once… and they didn’t help me, when I needed it most.”

For a while, they sat in silence with just the camp noises as their company. Rubbing her right thigh, the doctor found the bottle of laudanum. After taking just a sip, she nestled it back in her satchel before retrieving her journal and pencil. Arthur watched tiredly as the dark strokes began to give an impression of the group sitting around the campfire. He could make out Hosea’s hat and Miss Grimshaw’s bouffant.

“Well, I should get some sleep,” Arthur said gruffly as he stood. Picking up his bedroll, he bid the woman good night as he walked away towards the outskirts of the camp.

“Where are you going?” Guinevere asked with humor in her voice.

“To find someplace to sleep.”

“And get covered in dew in the morning? Nonsense.” She moved her satchel to free up the space next to the cot. “At least sleep under an awning.”

“I couldn’t.” He tried to be firm, but it apparently had little effect.

“You know, you’ve put me in the awful position of taking your bed. Is it going to be made worse by the knowledge that I’ve also made you lay out in the damp?”

“I’ll put up my tent, then.”

“And do all that work?”

“You are _really_ difficult to argue with,” Arthur pointed out, only slightly annoyed.

“Well _someone_ needs to protect me from all these _hooligans_.” For all he knew, she was hiding the truth behind her humor. When he merely stared at her, she waved away the notion and turned back to her journal. “Fine, then. Have fun being uncomfortable, cowboy.”

“You remind me of somebody,” he said pointedly as he came back to the wagon. She didn’t look up at him, eyes focused on her writing.

“I sure hope not. People like to tell me I am _unique_.”

“Yer…” Arthur started, but raised his arms and let them fall to his sides in frustration.

“Obtuse?”

“Yeah. Yer _ob-toose_.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Guinevere asked, raising her eyes. Arthur looked away. “I can go, if that’s what you want. You asked me here and I honestly don’t know what else I can do for you to express my gratitude. I don’t have any money or possessions of value, and there’s only so much I can do with this leg. But-”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Arthur interrupted, kicking out his bedroll in the space between the cot and the table. “I made my bed, now I’ll lie in it.”

She watched with strange melancholia as he took off everything but his long johns, pants, and socks, leaving everything in a neat pile on his trunk. He was settling in, back against the trunk and journal in hand, when she finally said, “Thank you, Arthur.”

“No need to thank me.”

Apparently that had been enough, because they didn’t speak again for the rest of the evening.

_Met a strange woman today, got her doctoring wagon stolen and broke her leg. I brought her back to camp and I don’t have a single clue why I did such a stupid thing. I guess I’m just terminally stupid. Hosea took a shine to her, they both have that performative streak. Dutch doesn’t like her one bit, even before talking to her. Both of them probably think she’s rich, but she says otherwise, something about getting left out of her family’s money. I don’t know what to believe - she’s obviously lying about something, but she doesn’t seem all that bad. She even gets along with that O’Driscoll boy and Susan, who can be a tough nut to crack. I don’t imagine there’s much money in helping poor folk on the prairie. Maybe she’s a liar and a thief, just like the rest of us - it’d explain why Hosea likes her so much, two of a kind. There’s something sad about her, like when I think about the life I could have lived or people I miss. I don’t want to talk to the others about her, because I know they’re going to think she’s another Mary. Hosea is already under my skin about her, implying things I don’t like. I had to go hunting and stay out alone for a few hours to think things through. I brought back two good deer, I guess that more than makes up for the fish I lost._

_Hosea says this stranger is an opportunity. Dutch says she’s a liability. She is difficult to refuse, but at least she’s easier to deal with than Micah. It will be a long few weeks while that fibyulea thing heals. Susan put her in one of my shirts and a skirt she probably demanded from one of the girls. The sight of her in my clothes is strange, but stranger is her discomfort with that skirt, always picking at it and wrestling with it, like it’s an animal trying to eat her. She looked at home in that handsome suit of hers, more at home than I would be. Some of the others made little comments to me about that shirt, I hope my bark was enough to dissuade them before they have to find out just how much worse my bite is._

In the early light of dawn, Arthur Morgan found Doctor Schofield still sitting in his cot. It was almost as if she hadn’t gone to bed. Arthur briefly wondered if the laudanum he bought the day before had disrupted any normal sleep she would have.

“Good morning, Mister Morgan,” she said rather cheerily, scribbling in her journal.

“M’rnin’,” Arthur grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He only managed to stand up to stretch before the wagon was practically swarmed upon. The outlaw and doctor looked at them all: Hosea Matthews with two cups of coffee, Miss Grimshaw with a bundle of clothing, and John Marston dragged by Abigail Roberts with a bowl of breakfast in her other hand, Jack following like a tired duckling. “What in the world is goin’ on?”

They all tried to talk first, a moment of silence passed as they all stopped to let the other go. Susan Grimshaw decided she would be first. Placing the bundle on the cot, she said simply, “Here are your clothes and a needle, Doctor Schofield.”

“Thank you,” Guinevere said with a charming smile. Arthur shifted nervously in his little space as he put on his suspenders. “If you have anything else that needs mending, feel free to leave it with me so the ladies might do something I can’t.”

“That’s mighty kind of you,” Susan remarked with a little color in her cheeks before leaving to attend to her other duties.

“I was going to see if you’re any good for a morning chat, but that can wait,” Hosea said next, handing the doctor one of his cups of coffee. Turning to Arthur he said, “When you’re done getting gussied up, Arthur, I want you to come see me.”

“Dutch wants me t’ go get Micah,” he argued, albeit in a put-upon drawl.

“Well, if you do this quickly, maybe you can do both.” Arthur sighed, but said nothing.

Abigail came forward with her boys. John grunted as he nodded a greeting to Arthur and Guinevere, while Jack looked at his shoes when he wasn’t trying to peek at their guest through his eyelashes.

“Hosea said you’re a doctor,” Abigail started, hopefully but warily, as if she was afraid of the woman with the broken leg. Arthur knew her to be strong and rather fearless, but it wasn’t exactly like they picked up someone new every day.

“If he said it, it must be true,” she joked with a smile. She switched her coffee to her left hand and extended her right. Abigail shook it, taken off-guard. “Doctor Schofield. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I thought John here could use a _professional_ opinion of his injuries-”

“I’m _fine_ , Abigail, I don’t know why you’re fussing so much,” John argued harshly.

“You _did_ get half your brains eaten by wolves up on that mountain, Marston,” Arthur reminded him as he filled out the shoulders of his jacket.

“Real funny, Arthur.” John did not find it funny.

“And Jack has had a cough,” Abigail interrupted before the two men could argue more. “I’m sure it’s just a cold, but-”

“Of course, I don’t mind. I have to do my share like everyone else,” the doctor said with a broad smile. Turning to Arthur, she gestured in the direction Hosea left. “I wouldn’t keep him waiting, who knows what he might do?”

Arthur chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. With a nod to the two ladies, he made his exit.

“You’re looking pretty alive for a man who had a run-in with a wolf,” Guinevere remarked as she set aside her coffee. She bid John come closer so she could look at him, but he stayed put.

“John Marston, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do what she says,” Abigail said forcefully, practically pushing the father of her child forward.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he argued as the doctor looked him over.

“Then why aren’t you working like the rest of us? Always goin’ on about how you need your rest.” At that moment, Guinevere reached out and jabbed the outlaw in the thigh with a finger.

“Sonnuva fuckin’ _bitch!_ ”

“John!” Abigail admonished him, putting her hands over Jack’s ears.

“That fuckin’ _hurt_ , you _lunatic!_ ” he complained, glaring at the doctor as he clutched his leg, trying to stop the pain.

“That’s probably why,” she said without emotion, watching his behavior. “Gunshot?”

“ _Maybe_. It was a while ago, it’s _fine_.”

“I would say it’s not. Did you get the bullet out?” John balked.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t really _conscious_.”

“Bad decision on your part, really.” After taking a sip of coffee, she continued, “Well, go find the person who fixed your leg and ask if they remember taking that lead out. If not, well, I might have to go see if it’s still in there. Otherwise, those stitches will need to come out in the next week or else they’ll grow over and be a bitch to get out.”

“You’re not a really _nice_ doctor, are you?” John said sharply.

“You’re not a very nice _patient_ , Mister Marston.” Abigail snickered behind her hand. John shot her a glare that went unheeded. “Now let me see this young man. He looks much more agreeable.”

John huffed and walked off, but he didn’t wander far, looking back at the wagon every now and then.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” Doctor Schofield asked in a facetious manner.

“I keep coughing,” Jack explained meekly. As if to prove his point, he coughed into his sleeve.

“Sounds like you’ve been in the snow,” she said before draining her cup. Wiping it clean with a kerchief, she twirled her finger to indicate that he should turn around. After a preliminary check, Guinevere gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s just a cold. Just make sure you eat all your vegetables and find a juicy apple.”

“Are you sure he’ll be alright?” Abigail asked, still obviously concerned.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll know if anything changes.” She fished the bag of candies out of her satchel and handed one to Jack with great ceremony. “For being a much better patient than your father.”

“What do you say, Jack?” Abigail prompted with a smile.

“Thank you!” her son said happily. Guinevere waved to him as they walked away.

Eyes scanning the camp, she said under her breath, “I’ve never had to take a piss so bad in my life.”

Thankfully for her, Mary-Beth Gaskill approached with a bowl in her hands. “Miss Grimshaw wanted to make sure you got some breakfast. She was worried you were going to try surviving on those candies Mister Matthews brought you.”

“It’s greatly appreciated, but what I would appreciate even more is a helping hand getting out of this cot.”

“Oh, of course! You could’ve asked sooner,” Mary-Beth reassured her as she helped the doctor stand up.

“I was practically mobbed this morning, I didn’t really have much of a chance,” Guinevere said with a laugh.

“What’s it like, being a doctor?” the young woman asked as they hobbled along.

“Complicated. Not the least bit romantic, I’m afraid to say.”

“You don’t meet any handsome strangers?”

“Handsome strangers tend to not need the help of a charitable doctor.”

“I’m sure there are, like… Arthur, just for an example.” Doctor Schofield laughed again despite the pain in her leg.

“Except in that case, _I_ needed _his_ help.”

“But you got to meet him,” Mary-Beth said playfully.

Eventually, the two of them got back to Arthur’s wagon where Guinevere could properly eat her breakfast in peace. Looking at the pile of clothing, Mary-Beth asked, “You actually _like_ sewing?”

“Can’t kill a pair of trousers,” the older woman commented after taking a bite of food. Whatever it was, it was rather unidentifiable. She made a face. “Has your Mister Pearson never heard of _seasoning_?”

“I don’t think they season things in the Navy,” Mary-Beth answered after giggling. Before leaving, she said, “If you like sewing, I bet Karen would take a real shine to you if you took her bit.”

“Thank you, I think I need all the allies I can get,” Doctor Schofield said with her charming smile.

* * *

When Hosea had said they needed to talk, Arthur assumed it was going to be some scheme about the new woman or some new mocking material. What he got was something a little bit in between.

“Kieran here says he thinks he knows where the doctor’s cart is. Or at least, where we can find the men responsible,” Hosea explained as he checked Silver Dollar’s tack and burdens.

“Oh really? And is it goin’ t’ go as well as the _last_ time he sent us somewhere?” Arthur asked angrily as he did the same.

“It’s only a small group of ‘em,” Kieran Duffy argued, the authority of it lost in his meekness. “And they’re idiots.”

“Just like the rest of the O’Driscolls,” Arthur muttered, spitting the name like a curse.

“It’s settled, then,” Hosea said with finality as he mounted his horse. Arthur’s hackles raised to see Kieran mount a horse as well.

“Yer lettin’ this O’Driscoll come with us?”

“I ain’t a O’Driscoll!”

“He knows where they are, Arthur, and besides, he wants to get that cart back just as much as you do,” Hosea explained.

“Who says I want t’ get that cart back?” Arthur asked petulantly as he followed the older man on the path out of camp. “It’s her own damn fault fer gettin’ robbed.”

“No one’s buying it that you don’t care, Arthur, so stop grumbling so much.” Unable to argue, Arthur merely shook his head and continued the ride in silence.

When they were near the supposed camp, the three dismounted and removed their rifles from their horses, leaving them secured in a nearby thicket. From a well-hidden vantage point, Arthur surveyed their target through his binoculars. It was certainly a camp full of O’Driscolls, only about 6 of them, but he couldn’t tell if-

“There,” Hosea whispered, pointing just a little bit away from the main camp. There stood a caravan, the words ‘Doctor Schofield’ painted in red on a white background with a red cross underneath.

“Well, that’s as good a sign as any,” Arthur said softly as he lowered the binoculars.

“It should be easy to take them all out,” his mentor commented, even though Arthur had already been thinking it. He could’ve done it on his own, really.

“If the O’Driscoll doesn’t shoot us in the back,” Arthur argued gruffly once more.

“Stop callin’ me that!” Kieran hissed.

They made short work of the O’Driscoll boys, it wasn’t as if Colm O’Driscoll was choosy about who signed on. The ruckus scared off the horses, however, and that seemed like the most important thing.

“You two get those horses back,” Hosea told them once all the shooting was good and done, “while I gather up all this stuff to put in the wagon.”

“What, we gonna pack up the whole camp and take it with us?” Arthur asked as Kieran went after one of the Shires.

“We don’t know what they stole. You don’t want to disappoint the doctor, do you?” Hosea laughed loudly as Arthur scoffed and walked away shaking his head.

“Heeere, Maybell, who’s a good girl?” he called softly as he approached one of the horses.

“That’s Bluebell,” Kieran called to him, the other draft horse following him.

“How d’ _you_ know?” Arthur asked skeptically.

“Bluebell is black, Maybell is grey,” the young man explained.

“Alright, _fine_. C’mere, Bluebell, so I can take you back to yer momma,” the outlaw cooed as he approached the black Shire. When she allowed him to be close enough, he stroked her muzzle and drawled, “Good girl.”

While Kieran got the horses back in their harnesses so they could pull the caravan, Arthur helped Hosea search the bodies and camp for anything to take back. Surprisingly, the O’Driscolls had little in the way of valuables or even money and most of the medical devices and tonics remained in the caravan. Arthur did note that the camping equipment and utensils the rival gang members had been using were much too nice for the likes of them and had been most likely pilfered from the doctor’s possessions.

“Maybe they were planning on selling it all in one lot,” Hosea wondered aloud as he looked at their haul. “Or maybe they were too stupid to know what they had.”

“I believe they’re pretty stupid, alright,” Arthur responded as he pulled open the doors to the caravan. Gathering up some items, he hopped into the back.

Trying to find a proper place to put everything, and to sate some curiosity, Arthur poked around. There were all sorts of bottles and weird tools in boxes, crates of books and trunks of clothes. What captivated him was the boards at the front of the caravan. Running his gloved fingers along them, he found a bit that was different from the rest. With a press of his fingers, the bit flipped up to reveal a keyhole.

“What’re you hidin’, Doctor Schofield?” he muttered to himself. Arthur considered that he could break the lock and blame it on the O’Driscolls, and would have a good excuse for stealing what was hidden there too. However, the voice that had told him to save the woman in the first place reminded him that everyone deserved their privacy and that he’d feel like an ass for snooping.

Closing the secret compartment, Arthur obeyed the voice one more time.

“Anything interesting?” Hosea asked as Arthur emerged from the caravan.

“Just doctor stuff, clothes,” he answered in a bored tone as he loaded the rest of the things they were taking. “Come on, or else Dutch’ll chew my ear off about Micah again.”

And so they headed off, Kieran driving the cart while Arthur and Hosea made sure that it wasn’t waylaid once again.

When they arrived back at camp, Karen was the first to greet them with an enthusiastic “Welcome back, boys!”

Kieran stopped the caravan away from the main part of the camp, but it wasn’t long before Mary-Beth was acting as Guinevere’s crutch to come see the returning heroes.

“You found it!” the doctor exclaimed with absolute glee on her face. She gave Maybell a hug around her thick neck while the horse snuffled her lovingly.

“Aren’t you _brave?_ ” Mary-Beth cooed as Kieran got down from the driver’s seat. The young man blushed.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he insisted, trying to avoid her earnest grin. “Lemme get the horses cleaned up and fed, Doctor Schofield. I doubt those guys took good care of them.”

“Oh, thank you so much, Kieran,” she said sincerely as she gave Bluebell a reassuring pat. Approaching Arthur, she asked, “Is there anything left inside?”

“I don’t think those O’Driscolls knew what you had, but we took everything from their camp just to make sure,” he reassured her. He knew better than to mention that the secret compartment was seemingly untouched. “I didn’t really find any valuables. Well, aside from yer books and bottles.”

“That’s too bad about my purse, but at least I can finally pay you back in another way. You can sell any of the medicine, or keep it if you want.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Hosea said in a bright tone, a steadying hand on the doctor’s shoulder as she tried to peek inside the wagon. “I assure you, we will consider you all paid up.”

“Well, even if I wasn’t, now I could make some more for you, if someone got me the ingredients.” Somewhat confident that everything was still intact, she asked, “Could someone retrieve a set of crutches? They’re hanging from the ceiling. One should have the number five-dash-ten stamped on it.”

“I’ll get ‘em,” Arthur grumbled before Hosea could show off. He helped her fit them snuggly under her arms and received a beaming smile from her in return.

“Thank you so much.”

“T’ain’t nothin’,” he muttered.

“We don’t always know what our kindness means to people.” After thanking them all once more, she hobbled off back to Arthur’s wagon. Arthur himself went to brush Maple down after their adventure.

Dutch van der Linde approached Hosea, who was still standing by the caravan, staring at its contents with a critical eye.

“So this is the infamous cart, huh?” the gang leader asked sarcastically, taking in the sight of it. “Well then, I guess it’s time for our _visitor_ to be on her way.”

“I think that’s a brash decision, Dutch,” Hosea dissented gently. “She can pay her way now.”

After briefly inspecting the caravan’s contents, Dutch laughed sarcastically. “Is this your _opportunity_ , Hosea? A cart full of medicines?”

“Not exactly, but it’s a start,” he answered firmly, unwilling to budge. Knowing Arthur would fight for the doctor to stay, he added, “Letting that woman go alone with a freshly broken leg is just a recipe for another disaster. She isn’t a burden if she can pay us back.”

Dutch knew he didn’t have much of an argument now that actual money was involved. Smoothing his hair down, he spat, “ _Fine_.”

Hosea was feeling rather good about himself, but his comments only made Dutch all the angrier when he approached Arthur.

“I thought I told you to get Micah out of that jail!” he roared. Arthur would’ve been scared if he didn’t want to look weak. It certainly raised some heads around the camp.

“I’m goin’!” Arthur roared back. Dutch raised a warning ringed finger.

“Are you talking back to me, son?”

“I don’t even know why you want that rat bastard around,” Arthur said tiredly, not answering the question.

“And it is no business of yours. What _is_ your business is to do as _I_ say and _I_ say is _go get Micah!_ ”

“Yessir.” Sullen and angry, Arthur left the camp without saying another word.

_Hosea, Kieran, and I got that caravan back for Doctor Schofield. I guess her name really is Schofield because it says so on the side. Either that, or she really doesn’t want people knowing who she really is. I know that feeling. She was really grateful to have it and her horses back. I lied and told her I couldn’t find her money, but I’m certain anything of value to her is behind that lock. A part of me won’t be satisfied until I know what’s behind it, but Dutch has other plans. Right now I’m camping in the woods near Strawberry where that fool Micah got himself jailed. I wish I could just wait for them to hang him and tell Dutch I was too late, but then he would probably have my hide. Sometimes there’s a madness in Dutch and I worry that if I fail to get Micah out of jail, Dutch might do something to Doctor Schofield as a lesson. I’m too old for lessons and even if she is not innocent of lying and hiding, she’s certainly innocent of my mistakes._


	3. Who the Hell is Guinevere Schofield?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any delays in updates, I know how much of a bummer slow updates are. While I am more than a hobbyist writer, this past year has been hard for me in terms of writing, and the holidays really slowed things down. I won't make promises I can't keep, but I am chipping away at the story and thinking about it every day. I hope everyone has been enjoying it and I thank you for your patience as I continue. Cheers!

The worst thing to ever happen to Arthur Morgan was Micah Bell. The man was nothing but a thorn in his side, from being unpleasantly snide all the time to getting him in trouble. Breaking him out of Strawberry was no different. Arthur wanted to get out of Dodge but that fool had to go shoot up half the town for some pistols.

After winding a path that hopefully threw off any scent the law could use to find the main camp, Arthur stopped in a secluded bit of forest to catch his breath. It wasn’t until he tried to get off Maple that he realized that his leg was bleeding. He grunted as a spike of pain went through his boot and up his leg. The outlaw sat on an exposed boulder for some time, just pressing his bandana into his thigh until it was impossibly blacker.

He couldn’t exactly go to Strawberry and Blackwater was off-limits to him for who knew how long. So he clambered into the saddle one more time, prayed he wouldn’t fall off, and whispered into Maple’s ear, “Get us home, girl. Get us home.”

It wasn’t the worst thing to happen to him, at least.

* * *

When Arthur had left, Doctor Schofield had been filled with excitement. She had her caravan, her horses, and all of her worldly possessions. The injured doctor was about to climb into her wagon when Hosea Matthews stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going with that leg?” he asked with a cock-eyed smile.

“Oh, I just wanted to check on everything,” she answered innocently.

“Well, why don’t we get some of that out of your way?” Hosea turned to see Uncle lazing about near their extra wagon. Kicking him awake, he commanded, “Get off your ass and help!”

“Help with _what_?” the old leech complained.

“Get these boxes over to Valentine and sell ‘em so Dutch’ll leave this poor woman alone.”

“I got lum-bay-go, I can’t be gettin’ in ‘n outta dat damn thing.” Hosea nearly cuffed him, but instead set eyes on a passing figure.

“Then take Lenny with you.”

“The _boy?_ ” Uncle whined, not at all helping his case.

“God, so help me,” the old outlaw started menacingly.

“Alright, alright,” Uncle said, raising his hands in surrender as he went off to tell Lenny what they were going to get up to for the rest of the day. When Hosea turned around, he found Guinevere staring at him.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” he said in a sweet tone, thinking she was frightened by his outburst. “Some of them can be so lazy, it really gets on my nerves.”

“It’s nothing, you just reminded me of someone,” she reassured him as she undid the latch that allowed a set of steps to unfold from the back of the caravan.

“No one too awful, I hope.”

“Just myself,” the doctor told him as she disobeyed his suggestion to not go into her own caravan. As she ascended the steps, Hosea took the opportunity to look at her critically.

“I find that difficult to believe,” he said with a low chuckle. He watched as some crank mechanism inside allowed part of the caravan’s side to lift up, creating a window. “That’s a very nice caravan, if I might say so myself.”

“I practically lived out of it for the past decade.” When Lenny came to take away the crates Hosea wanted them to sell, Guinevere had to be shooed away from helping. As the two headed off for Valentine as instructed, the old con artist stepped into the caravan as well. It became suddenly very crowded.

“I imagined that you stayed in hotels wherever you went,” he remarked, testing some strange piece of equipment on the wall.

“That’s not really an option everywhere I go,” she answered anxiously. Pulling a nearby latch, she showed him that the equipment was actually a folding table.

“It’s hard, traveling on your own.” Hosea looked up at the things hanging from the ceiling: crutches, strings of herbs, baubles. A rather nice rifle.

“I used to have a dog, but he died a few months ago.” Her guest watched as she hobbled around the caravan, fingering through crates and boxes.

“Arthur had a dog. Copper. He _loved_ that dog. He says he didn’t cry when he died but _I_ know he was lying,” he said mischievously. He stepped forward as she left a box looking flustered. “What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

“Oh, just seeing what’s left,” the doctor told him with an awkward smile.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find your purse.”

“It’s not the worst thing in the world, but I appreciate the sentiment.” She watched as his gloved fingers traced the word “Books” on one of her boxes. “You can borrow some, if you think any of them are interesting.”

“Are you also a small library?” Hosea chuckled as he opened the box, finding all sorts of volumes.

“Well, I’m not a small librarian, that’s for sure,” Guinevere chuckled. Seeing him pick a rather large book in particular, she snatched it away. “I don’t think we know each other well enough for you to go snooping my photo albums.”

“I thought we’d be close enough to see _portraits_.”

“There’s some nude ones in here,” she told him in a conspiratorial tone, balancing on her good leg.

“Of you?” Hosea asked suggestively, receiving a good laugh.

“Maybe. But I’m not the only subject in this book. I have to keep their honor intact.” She set the album aside on another trunk near the front of the caravan.

“So you have some lonely heartbroken man out there, hoping for you to come back?”

“No, just a friend who was very interested in photography,” Guinevere answered wistfully. Her eyebrows lifted and her face changed as if she came to a sudden realization. “We weren’t even really friends, we were just… in the same circle. He actually annoyed me the most.”

“He might be a better con artist than me if he can get scandalous photographs while being obnoxious,” Hosea said facetiously, watching her face for further developments. He was a little surprised to see her smile.

“Actually, he was the only person to not let me down.”

“You may be more like us than I originally thought.” Guinevere laughed and handed him a book with the word _Candide_ stamped on its cover in gold type.

“You best get out of here before you’re convincing me to stay with you permanently.”

From the comfort of his tent, Hosea read the borrowed book while taking secretive glances at the caravan. Doctor Schofield spent some time inside perhaps making herself comfortable so Arthur could have his wagon back. At some point Karen Jones brought her some darning to do with some casual conversation and she spent the rest of her afternoon sitting at the back of her caravan, busying herself with work. Her polite and almost flirtatious exchange with Susan Grimshaw was ultimately unnoteworthy and he didn’t manage to see what book she leant to Mary-Beth, but it had been thick.

Much to Hosea’s disappointment, nothing really interesting happened until it was nearly supper time. Guinevere had finished her darning and moved onto scribbling in her journal. The sight of it reminded him of Arthur, that intense look he’d get when he was trying to find the right words or the correct stroke to flesh out the image in his mind.

Hosea watched in morbid curiosity as Orville Swanson staggered up to the doctor’s caravan. The man had only been in camp a few days since Arthur brought him back from Flatneck Station where he found himself whichever indulgent substance was available.

“Doctor!” the preacher called in a panic. The woman in question looked up with a very calm and warm expression.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“I’ve lost everything, I’m afraid,” he told her, absolutely devastated.

“You still have your hair,” she pointed out with a smile.

“The drink and the morphine— it’s taken everything from me!” Reverend Swanson continued as if she’d said nothing. To Hosea’s surprise, Doctor Schofield’s expression didn’t change. “Can a man be cured of sin by human hands?”

“Why did you fall in with morphine?”

“I had a terrible pain, a physical one, but I’m afraid it was spiritual in nature. For I have been doomed to sin,” he told her quite seriously. Whether he read her impending question in her honest face or was just on one of his rants, it was uncertain, but the result was the same.

“I succumbed to carnal pleasures of both flesh and substance. I was made a bigamist. I have lost my faith, and the pain of it drives me further into the Devil’s arms. I have long prayed for Him to send me some sign that might drive away these demons, but I always fall back into their arms. I have prayed and drank and almost given up on prayer. But Mister Morgan came to save me once again from death and so I started praying once more. Now Mister Morgan has saved you and brought you to us.”

Hosea expected their guest to recoil from the man’s madness or give some noncommittal answer such as “I am just a person” or “I don’t know how to help you.” Instead she set aside her journal, lifted herself off of the caravan, and balanced on her good leg.

“We’re all in pain, every one of us. And we all lose faith, in Providence or otherwise,” she said with bittersweet softness, her eyes holding his gaze openly. “I believe that what we need more than faith in something greater, is our trust that they have faith in _us_. God has faith that you will do the right thing in your own time.”

Reverend Swanson was quiet for a moment. It was probably the most thoughtful Hosea had seen him in a long time.

The disgraced minister hung his head and began to weep. Many eyes turned towards the scene, eyes that hadn’t been watching as closely as Hosea. In an awkward movement that she managed to look dignified, Guinevere hopped forward and embraced the weeping man.

What followed was a slew of confessions and regrets, mostly garbled, some even factually false. Through it all, Doctor Schofield stood on that one foot and made no attempt to leave him alone in his overwhelming sadness.

Simon Pearson was the one to approach them first.

“C’mon, Reverend, why don’t we give the doctor some time off that leg?” the large gentleman asked insistently as he took hold of Swanson’s shoulders. With a light tug, the poor man let go and followed the cook’s lead back to his tent. Guinevere watched them go, a melancholic pall on her face.

“Are you alright, Doctor Schofield?” Susan Grimshaw asked, standing at her elbow. The woman wasn’t disturbed.

“Of course,” she answered sweetly, offering her a charming smile.

Did Hosea have any reason to be suspicious of her? Perhaps a life of crime made one overly critical. Maybe Dutch’s apprehensions were getting to him after all. Too many things didn’t seem to match up, didn’t meet his expectations. Mostly, he didn’t believe that someone could be so spry and energetic with such a recent injury.

Even if his eyes didn’t stay glued on her all day, the old conman was always keeping tabs on their guest.

Night had fallen and some of the gang had started their routine of libations. Doctor Schofield was kindly invited by Tilly Jackson and Miss Grimshaw to join them, but she only sat until they were done with their supper. Bidding them goodnight, she insisted that she wanted to spend some time taking laps around the camp to keep the stiffness from her legs and maintain her good figure.

No one really knew why Karen liked Sean MacGuire, but to hear Mary-Beth and Tilly tell it, it was because he was the only one who could keep her from being a sad drunk. He was just stupid enough to be charming and a good enough criminal to be tolerable, although Hosea didn’t always agree.

After a rousing rendition of _O, Molie_ , Sean excused himself from the campfire to do what anyone needs to do after a few hours of drinking. Unfortunately for the Irishman, Guinevere had stopped in the darkness just beyond Arthur’s tent. Perhaps only a few of them had taken notice that she stood there, doing God-only-knew, but Sean certainly hadn’t. Hosea watched, unknowingly holding his breath in anticipation.

They collided as only two bipeds with poor balance could do, which is spectacularly and with great injury. The doctor hissed in pain as Sean flailed about to get back on his feet. He groaned and clutched at his stomach where something hard and blunt connected in the fall.

“Oh, shite, mate!” Sean slurred apologetically when he realized who it was. He tried, poorly, to aid the fallen victim. She angrily swatted his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” Almost everyone watching thought it had been quite the overreaction, rather snobbish. With tears in her eyes, Doctor Schofield felt along her calf. Once again, she snapped the bone back into place, but there was no kind-hearted cowboy to offer her a stick.

Hosea had to hand it to her; if she was acting, her pain certainly felt real to watch. The cry was animalistic and sad, if not heart-wrenching. He regretted letting it happen, because it certainly seemed like he’d been wrong.

Not knowing what to do, the gathered crowd merely watched.

“Well, _help_ the poor woman,” Reverend Swanson said gruffly in disappointment as he swiftly approached.

“I’m fine,” Guinevere sobbed, weakly pushing him away. It had little use.

“Mister Pearson,” Orville called, picking Simon out from the crowd. “Help me put Doctor Schofield back on her cot.”

Between the two of them, they were able to lift the poor woman off of the ground and convey her to Arthur’s cot with only a few mewling complaints of pain. Once there, the disgraced minister offered her the rest of her laudanum with a hesitant hand. Taking it, Guinevere drank what was left and quietly thanked the men for their assistance.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Sean said in his suddenly sober lilt. The doctor merely shook her head.

“‘S fine,” she mumbled before doing the most she could to be comfortable.

It’d certainly put the camp in a quiet mood, but Hosea considered one of the mysteries of Doctor Schofield the Travelling Physician solved.

* * *

By noontime the next day, Guinevere Schofield managed to wake from her laudanum slumber. Someone had brought her coffee and breakfast, but it had long-since turned cold. Her mouth felt like cotton. Most of her body, except for the right calf, was taken up by a dull ache.

Through the haze, she grabbed her crutches and clumsily got to her foot. Before she could get even half-way to her caravan, she was beset upon by the sound of swishing skirts.

“Doctor Schofield!” Susan cried with concern. “You shouldn’t be moving around like that.”

“I’m quite fine,” she croaked unconvincingly. Tilly attempted to touch her arm, probably to stop her, but the stubborn woman kept going.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” the young woman insisted, following her swift progress.

“No more than I have been already.”

“Can’t we get you something?” the camp matriarch pleaded, ready to assist Guinevere when it was obvious that she intended to get into the caravan all on her own.

Looking around in search of some answer, the doctor seemingly changed her mind.

“A bucket of water, if you wouldn’t mind.” She started hobbling towards the surrounding forest. “Preferably warm.”

When Arthur Morgan brought her into camp that fateful day, she felt helpless in the face of Miss Grimshaw’s motherly concern. In a way, it had been nice to have someone take care of her for once in so many years. Guinevere didn’t know what soured her mood so suddenly. Perhaps it was just the pain.

Susan brought her the bucket of heated water, but her aid was refused with a kind but strained smile. The doors and shutters were closed and no one in camp could say what was going on inside.

It wasn’t a proper bath, but peeling off those borrowed clothes and feeling the warm soapy water on her skin was almost as good as morphine. The caravan felt like home, even if it was tainted by the thought of those O’Driscolls rummaging through her things with their grubby hands.

Guinevere pulled on her clothing and smiled at her reflection. Broken by her fall the night before, she finally replaced the makeshift splint with one of her proper ones. She opened the shutters but left the door closed, choosing to have some peace and solitude for just a few hours to write in her journal.

_I am not sure if these people like me; some are kind, a few seem suspicious, and most keep their distance. I suppose I would be suspicious of a stranger if I was them. For once, I am aware of how much I have changed from that young woman I used to be, but these people practically smell her on me. Like my youth, some are charmed and others are rather resentful. Or at least, I fear that they are._

_My rescuer went out last afternoon to retrieve a wayward member of their merry band, but he has not returned yet. I worry about him and hope that he—_

Doctor Schofield couldn’t finish her thought before a commotion started to brew outside her caravan. Through the open shudders she could hear their voices.

“Arthur’s back!” a voice like Lenny’s cried. “He’s hurt!”

“Mister Williamson, get that young man off his horse!” Dutch van der Linde commanded with more concern than Guinevere had ever heard from the man.

Somehow through the noise she managed to hear Arthur say, “I need the doctor.”

“Tough luck, _Sh-awn_ broke her posh leg last night!” Bill told him, somewhere between humor and annoyance.

Doctor Guinevere Schofield threw open the doors to her caravan. All eyes turned to stare.

“I need boiled water and a whole lot less shouting,” she told them with a general’s firmness.

“Yer not the boss of me!” Bill spat angrily as he held up most of Arthur’s weight.

“Do as the woman says!” Dutch roared, pointing his finger to the caravan like a governess telling her ward to go to their room. Bill grumbled, but he and Lenny carried Arthur into the caravan. The poor outlaw grunted in pain.

They laid him out on the folding table as Guinevere got the appropriate supplies. The two men hovered, but she shooed them away. She was finally checking the wound in his leg when Arthur grabbed her wrist.

“I don’ wanna go yet,” he drawled, fear and pain in his eyes. She gave him a bright smile despite the fact that she would have to dig the bullet out of his thigh.

“You’re not going anywhere, Mister Morgan.” He released her hand. A good bit of morphine was poured down his throat. While she waited for it to set in, the doctor started making the hole in his trousers bigger in order for work to be done. “I hope these weren’t your best pair.”

“How uh-bow chyew take’m off ‘n fine out?” Arthur said dreamily, although she was fairly certain he was trying to be suggestive.

“For your sake, I hope no one heard that,” Guinevere muttered.

Doctor Schofield worked so diligently and with such focus that she didn’t notice how much her leg hurt from unwittingly using it.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Arthur Morgan,” she said to herself as she fell into her chair. Trying to wipe the blood off her hands, she called out through her shutters, “Can I get a clean bucket of water? And a set of fresh clothes for Mister Morgan.”

Mary-Beth and Tilly came to her aid, one carrying the water while the other brought the clothes. They stared at Arthur’s unconscious body with obvious worry.

“How is he?” Tilly asked, setting the clothes down while Mary-Beth set down the water.

“Fine as can be.” Carefully, Guinevere got to her feet again. Mary-Beth put a hand on her arm. The doctor gave her a questioning look.

“Should you be on your feet, Doctor Schofield?” Guinevere laughed and offered her a charming smile.

“No, but I will be fine.”

“Let us help you get him changed,” Tilly said insistently, going to remove Arthur’s boots. Mary-Beth started taking off his gunbelt.

“Are you sure he won’t be too embarrassed about that?” the doctor asked with a smirk as she sat back down.

“ _Please_ , he’d probably be more embarrassed if _you_ did it,” Mary-Beth answered suggestively.

“Is that the rumor? That he’s sweet on me?”

“Why else would he bring you here? And fight with D— Mister MacIntosh about it?”

“Don’t be saying silly things like that, Mary-Beth. Arthur has a good heart,” Tilly corrected in her stern manner. “Way I see it, Doctor Schofield being here is a blessing.”

The woman in question laughed. Mary-Beth asked, “What’s so funny about that?”

“People often say that I am a blessing, an angel, but I don’t really feel that way,” she told her, obviously tired.

“The best heroes don’t think they’re heroes,” Tilly said. “Or else they’d be annoying, going around saying they’re the best and other nonsense.”

“Perhaps Mister Morgan isn’t the _only_ one who likes me. I’m quite surprised.”

“You think we don’t like you?” Tilly asked in disbelief.

“ _I_ don’t even like me.”

“Well, _Karen_ likes you, but that’s because you took her sewing,” Tilly told her, giggling as she wiped Arthur’s leg with a wet cloth. “And Miss Grimshaw likes you because you’re not ‘useless’ like the rest of us.”

“ _And_ she thinks you’re _charming_ ,” Mary-Beth giggled as she cleaned Arthur’s arm. With pinkened cheeks she added, “Kieran likes you. And Mister Matthews.”

Guinevere wanted to say, ‘I think he’s more suspicious than doting,’ but she knew better than to say that. “I didn’t realize that I’m so popular.”

“Surely you must. You’re just so… _interesting_ ,” Mary-Beth said dreamily. “You’re like a character in a book. You must have _so_ many stories.”

Tilly admonished her, but Guinevere still chuckled. “I used to have a lot of stories. Not so much anymore.”

“I don’t know why Mister MacIntosh doesn’t like you, you seem so nice,” Mary-Beth said, almost as if she was going to cry.

“He thinks I’m rich. Or at least, that’s what Arthur says,” the doctor reassured her with one of her smiles. “But I am rich no more. Those stories are behind me.”

“What was it like, when you were younger?” Tilly asked before Mary-Beth managed to. Guinevere hummed as she thought about her answer.

“My father was rich and liked my brother more than me. My mother envied my freedom and tried to get me married off. I had a fiancé—”

“Was he handsome? And rich?” Mary-Beth pressed with wide eyes.

“He _was_. I haven’t seen him in almost a decade.”

“Why didn’t you get married?” she asked in astonishment.

“He…” Guinevere paused, looking over to the sleeping form next to her. She got up, intending to finish bandaging his wound now that he was cleaned up. “We just weren’t a good match. I liked him well enough, but I didn’t want to be married to him.”

“Miss Grimshaw was right,” Tilly said, smiling and shaking her head.

“What about?”

“She said to us, ‘There’s a woman who gets what she wants and doesn’t take anything from no one.’ More or less.” The doctor laughed to herself.

“How about we let the mystery continue?” With that, the young girls were dismissed.

Seeing Arthur be undressed, cleaned, and partially redressed had been clinical. Covering his stitches with gauze had been tender but chaste. Pulling out a blanket to lay over him and a pillow to place under his head was kind. Only when she started brushing out his sweat-matted hair did Guinevere think that there was anything other than doctorly concern in her actions.

That didn’t stop her, necessarily. She sat down beside him and intended to start writing in her journal again. Her exhaustion and pain hit like a train. Powering through for just a little longer, she unfolded her cot and crawled into it. The lack of pillow or blanket didn’t matter after she took a small amount of morphine for herself.

* * *

When Arthur woke up, it was dark out, but someone had lit a lantern and left it hanging by the caravan doors. He didn’t know it, but most of the gang had taken a moment to come around to check on the injured man. Someone had picked flowers and left them on a chest in a vase. Beside it sat two plates, one full and one empty.

“Waking up is a good start,” a voice from the corner called, jarring him from his fog. “How do you feel?”

“Like cotton in molasses,” he drawled, rubbing his face. “And my damn leg hurts.”

“Believe me, it’ll hurt more soon enough when the morphine wears off.” Doctor Schofield smiled down at him, a tin mug of water in her hand. “I’m afraid doctor’s orders are bedrest for a few days.”

“Yer not exac’ly followin’ yer own orders,” Arthur pointed out, propping himself up on an elbow so he could drink the water she offered him.

“I was never good at following orders.” She watched as he drank, a critical look on her face. “When you’re up to it, I’ll get one of your friends to help you get back to your wagon.”

After a moment of contemplation, he asked, “Will I be alright?”

“I did my best, but there’s always infection to worry about.” With a smirk she added, “We’ll just have to make sure you’re cleaner than normal.”

He was too pale and weak to blush, but he did look away sheepishly. “Thank ye, Doctor.”

“I guess you can say we’re even now.”

When Arthur was ready, Guinevere gave him a little more morphine to help with the pain and called for someone to help him out of the caravan. Sean rushed to answer.

“What’s this about you breaking the doctor’s leg?” Arthur asked the Irishman once they were far enough away from the caravan.

“I was hopin’ you wouldn’t remember that,” Sean said with a sigh. “I jus’ bumped ‘er! It was dark!”

“You were _drunk_ , you mean,” the cowboy corrected as he sat down on his cot with a grunt. “Go on, get outta ‘ere a’fore Hosea has yer hide.”

“Yes, Sean, why don’t you make yourself useful?” With a rare amount of self-preservation, the young man scurried off without being told twice. Dutch chuckled to himself before puffing on his cigar. Hosea came closer, playfully shaking Arthur’s foot. “She didn’t take the leg, I see.”

“It’s too bad, you would’ve made a convincing veteran,” Dutch said with a sarcastic smile. Arthur scowled.

“I ain’t really in the mood for yer jokes, Dutch. Not after all the pain and suffering Micah caused me.”

“Where is he, anyway?” the gang leader asked.

“If he’s smart, far away from here,” Arthur grumbled angrily.

“Your blind anger doesn’t look good on you, son. I suggest you take this time to reflect on that.” Arthur didn’t argue with him, he was tired and it was pointless.

After Dutch went back to his tent, Hosea offered the injured man a warm smile. “How are you feeling, Arthur?”

“I’ll be alright,” he drawled in response, rubbing his face.

“I think Dutch is warming up to our guest after this latest event,” the old conman told him with some humor. Arthur covered his eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed.

“No offense, Hosea, but I wanna be alone for a while.” Hosea made the face that always made Arthur regret denying him, but he was too tired and didn’t trust that he wouldn’t say the wrong thing.

“Of course, you need your rest.” Hosea patted his leg before making his leave.

_That fool Micah almost got me killed, but Maple brought me home. Doctor Schofield patched up my leg and now I’m confined to camp for a few days. She makes me feel vulnerable and stupid with the way she looks at me. I haven’t met many, but she has the look in her eye that the social elite have, the one that says they can see everything about you. There isn’t anything malicious about it, just that fearsome intelligence that doesn’t need bragging for you to know it’s there._

_Sometimes I worry that I have pegged her wrong about all this secret door nonsense. I don’t know rich people, but I do know what it feels like to be too many people at once. We are all carrying around ghosts, the ghosts we once were, the ghosts of the ones we loved, and the ghosts of those we wronged. It’s hard being out in the world alone and even harder living a lie._

_Yet I still wonder, who is Guinevere Schofield?_


End file.
